why he should be bothered. After all, he wasn’t the one breaking marriage vows. But it did bother him.
He sighed softly. “I told you, there is no wager.”
Jefferson sighed. “Of course not.”
“Jefferson — ”
“Oh, come now. Surely you are as curious as I am.”
“Curious over what?”
Jefferson offered up a sly look. “Whether or not she’s a virgin.”
Garrett glared at him. “I suppose you will simply have to take my word for it, then. Won’t you?”
“I’m sure I will. Of course, by then, I’ll have no way of knowing the truth, will I?”
“I suppose you’ll have to take the word of an old friend.”
Bradley gave him a long look. “That I will.” He took a deep breath and got to his feet. “Well, I’m going to head over to Harry’s, maybe see if I can scare up a game of whist. How about it, McKenzie? Feeling a bit lucky this eve?”
Garrett was about to say no. Lately, he had no desire to go out carousing. Not when he could be home, working on the parlor. The house was very near to completion now, and he was anxious to finish.
Stop lying to yourself, McKenzie, he thought as he considered Bradley’s offer. You know the true reason, and it has nothing to do with that blasted parlor.
He ignored that nagging little voice as he stood. “A game of whist sounds like a peaceful way to end a lousy day. And you are buying the first round, am I right?”
“Of course. But you’re buying the rest.” Bradley’s boisterous laughter echoed about the small office as he reached for his hat and disappeared down the steps to the street.
Chapter Eight
Katherine couldn’t sleep. Although her ankle no longer hurt, her side burned like the fires of Hell no matter how she lay. A fine mist of perspiration covered her skin, despite the fact that she’d undressed down to only her light linen chemise. Breathing was nearly impossible.
After what seemed like endless trips up and down the stairs, she had to take everything to the laundry, a small room just beyond the kitchen. With Sidwell’s help, water was brought in and heated before being poured into the large copper tub, along with soap. After that, she spent all morning scrubbing clothes, sheets and towels against the slatted scrub board, wringing them out, and placing them in another basket to be hung out in the brilliant sunshine to dry.
That was the worst part, carrying the baskets of wet articles. She still wanted to cry from the memory of hauling those blasted baskets out behind the house. Where it hadn’t been so difficult when dry, the wet laundry weighed ten times as much. Twice, she’d had to stop to chase away lightheadedness. Once, she’d actually dropped the basket, sending the wet clothing spilling across the grass.
It wouldn’t have been so terrible, had one of Garrett’s shirts not landed where the strong afternoon sun, and little rain, resulted in a grassless patch on the lawn. She stared in horror at the splotches staining the white linen. Her attempt at brushing the dirt off proved fruitless, as the dirt left dingy shadows behind. Rewashing it was her only option.
Hanging the laundry was almost as bad, but wet clothing didn’t weigh nearly as much when lifted one by one, of course. Still, each time she raised her right arm, fire burned through her and she couldn’t hold back each accompanying flinch. Fortunately, she had no audience to question her.
At least it was done. Now, if only the ache would either fade enough to allow sleep, or intensify to the point where she would faint, she would be happy.
When the clock in the parlor struck midnight, she sat up, muttering, “Bloody hell…” and grimacing as she clutched her middle.
“Perhaps a nip of that brandy in Mr. McKenzie’s office will help ease this enough to let me sleep. Everyone is asleep and no one will never know.”
She eased her legs over and sat there, eyeing her ivory cashmere shawl. It was the one fine garment she owned, the one she refused to part
He sighed softly. “I told you, there is no wager.”
Jefferson sighed. “Of course not.”
“Jefferson — ”
“Oh, come now. Surely you are as curious as I am.”
“Curious over what?”
Jefferson offered up a sly look. “Whether or not she’s a virgin.”
Garrett glared at him. “I suppose you will simply have to take my word for it, then. Won’t you?”
“I’m sure I will. Of course, by then, I’ll have no way of knowing the truth, will I?”
“I suppose you’ll have to take the word of an old friend.”
Bradley gave him a long look. “That I will.” He took a deep breath and got to his feet. “Well, I’m going to head over to Harry’s, maybe see if I can scare up a game of whist. How about it, McKenzie? Feeling a bit lucky this eve?”
Garrett was about to say no. Lately, he had no desire to go out carousing. Not when he could be home, working on the parlor. The house was very near to completion now, and he was anxious to finish.
Stop lying to yourself, McKenzie, he thought as he considered Bradley’s offer. You know the true reason, and it has nothing to do with that blasted parlor.
He ignored that nagging little voice as he stood. “A game of whist sounds like a peaceful way to end a lousy day. And you are buying the first round, am I right?”
“Of course. But you’re buying the rest.” Bradley’s boisterous laughter echoed about the small office as he reached for his hat and disappeared down the steps to the street.
Chapter Eight
Katherine couldn’t sleep. Although her ankle no longer hurt, her side burned like the fires of Hell no matter how she lay. A fine mist of perspiration covered her skin, despite the fact that she’d undressed down to only her light linen chemise. Breathing was nearly impossible.
After what seemed like endless trips up and down the stairs, she had to take everything to the laundry, a small room just beyond the kitchen. With Sidwell’s help, water was brought in and heated before being poured into the large copper tub, along with soap. After that, she spent all morning scrubbing clothes, sheets and towels against the slatted scrub board, wringing them out, and placing them in another basket to be hung out in the brilliant sunshine to dry.
That was the worst part, carrying the baskets of wet articles. She still wanted to cry from the memory of hauling those blasted baskets out behind the house. Where it hadn’t been so difficult when dry, the wet laundry weighed ten times as much. Twice, she’d had to stop to chase away lightheadedness. Once, she’d actually dropped the basket, sending the wet clothing spilling across the grass.
It wouldn’t have been so terrible, had one of Garrett’s shirts not landed where the strong afternoon sun, and little rain, resulted in a grassless patch on the lawn. She stared in horror at the splotches staining the white linen. Her attempt at brushing the dirt off proved fruitless, as the dirt left dingy shadows behind. Rewashing it was her only option.
Hanging the laundry was almost as bad, but wet clothing didn’t weigh nearly as much when lifted one by one, of course. Still, each time she raised her right arm, fire burned through her and she couldn’t hold back each accompanying flinch. Fortunately, she had no audience to question her.
At least it was done. Now, if only the ache would either fade enough to allow sleep, or intensify to the point where she would faint, she would be happy.
When the clock in the parlor struck midnight, she sat up, muttering, “Bloody hell…” and grimacing as she clutched her middle.
“Perhaps a nip of that brandy in Mr. McKenzie’s office will help ease this enough to let me sleep. Everyone is asleep and no one will never know.”
She eased her legs over and sat there, eyeing her ivory cashmere shawl. It was the one fine garment she owned, the one she refused to part
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